


All Gone Home

by Thisjackofhearts



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Childhood Memories, It is now 4am the next day and I am so sleep deprived, M/M, My first fic, Trans Male Character, Trans Peter Lukas, i wrote this at 3am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26244754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thisjackofhearts/pseuds/Thisjackofhearts
Summary: If you had told Elias Bouchard just a few years ago that he would willingly set foot on the Lukas family's estate again, he would never have believed you. Yet as he followed Peter, who roamed like a feral cat through the undergrowth of the forest that led from one border of the land to another, he was struck with a strange sense of nostalgia.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	All Gone Home

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning:  
> Implied self harm (one line)  
> Religion  
> Implied Internalised Transphobia  
> Brief mentions of death

If you had told Elias Bouchard just a few years ago that he would willingly set foot on the Lukas family's estate again, he would never have believed you. Yet as he followed Peter, who roamed like a feral cat through the undergrowth of the forest that led from one border of the land to another, he was struck with a strange sense of nostalgia. Obviously, even trees had grown and died since the last time he was there but nothing had truly changed. He still walked with the same carefully measured gait as he avoided stray branches and thorns catching on his clothes and lamented the fact that he would have to polish his boots again once he got home. Despite all of this, he humoured this round faced, overly polite man. They _were_ married after all. 

However, after what must have been several hours of this nonsense Elias's mind wandered to the memories of the man who was now stepping on rocks to cross a stream, remarkably nimbly for someone of his build.

He saw a little blonde haired girl, who must have been only 5 or 6, climbing a gnarled old tree that he recalled passing a good half an hour ago. She struggled on the way up, slipping and sliding on the bark which must have been wet from the rain she heard the night before. Yet, despite this, she made it up quite high with only a few grazes on her legs and some mud on her clothes and bare feet. She sat carefully arranging her little grey pinafore before her tiny chubby hands pulled her long hair into a ponytail and she leant her head against the trunk and fell into a dreamless sleep. 

The same girl sat, a few years later at a piano far older than herself and played a short piece for an old man who sat in front of her. Elias didn't particularly recognise the tune or care enough to Know it, but it seemed rather whimsical and sweet especially for a member of the Lukas family. When she had stopped, the old man began to ruthlessly critique her playing as her blue eyes glazed over and she silently nodded along.

A teenager stood at a bathroom sink, a pair of blunt scissors in their hands. Their pale arms were littered with scars, scratches and scabs and shook as they brought the scissors just below the bobble which held their ponytail. With closed eyes they cut off their hair which had once ended just below their hips and now lay in shining golden strands on the cold tiles of the floor and the bleached porcelain of the sink. They opened their eyes and began frantically hacking at their remaining hair. The style was in no way sophisticated or neat but as they looked in the mirror to see those short, uneven tufts of hair, their eyes crinkled into a smile.

Once again, that teenager who had grown older and considerably taller, sat at the old piano playing a nameless tune. This one was bittersweet and in the minor key and was very obviously composed by the player. Their young tutor, a man who couldn't have been over age 18, sat by their side. As the piece ended, a blush crept over the teenagers freckled cheeks as they pressed a shy kiss to his lips. They knew that he would be gone by the next day yet drowned themself in the feeling of another person.

And then, that teenager grew into a baby faced young man who hopped over the same stepping stones that his older self had been using just a few minutes ago and ran down a route which, despite there being no visible path, he knew instinctively as the same steps he had took every year of his life ever since he could walk. As the muted hues of dusk deepened to an endless navy, the man had exited the estate and was now basking in the shining orange light of the street lamps as he tried not to trip on the icy cobbles. He looked up and saw how the snow fell in thick clumps onto his eyelashes and glistened against the warm glow as his breath fogged the air around him. He adored this time of year most of all, not because of any celebrations, he had never really thought himself religious enough for any of that, but because of the way the chilling wind and early nights allowed him to walk the streets of the nearby village completely unbothered. No crowds. No awkward greetings. No talking. Just himself and the frost which seemed to cling to his bones like a parasite. Yes, the young man thought, if there is a god, somewhere out there that cares to look upon _him_ of all people, they must be the one that blessed him with the knowledge that all he has ever needed or will need in this world was himself and himself alone.

Elias looked up from where he had been carefully avoiding stinging nettles and looked at the man in front of him. Yes, he could see it now. He saw the young man with an air of frost circling him like a halo the clearest in his older self, yet if he looked closer, he could see the freckled cheeks of the older teenager and his eyes still crinkled into that smile he'd seen on that younger face. If he dared to look even closer than that he could see hints of the quiet child who had sat playing at the piano and even the stubbornness of the 5 year old climbing a tree. But that was not all for Elias, or more precisely, Jonah, had seen much more than that. On the rare occasion that Peter's mask of politeness and geniality slipped, he also saw in those clear blue eyes, the cruel smile of a man who had died over one hundred years ago and who delighted in seeing the misfortune that befell those who dared to cross him. And, he remembered the distinct emotion he had felt a few years before when he saw in that face the faint impression of a hopeful man who was left to die alone, begging to be spared, and who's bones now rest below the floorboards of his office.

It's interesting how people grow and die and grow once more, yet nothing has changed. Glimpses of the past still lay in the present and yet he thought it rather poetic that he had last left that house after a quickly forgotten argument with a Lukas and now he was here once more, married to one.

He glanced at that golden ring as it glinted in the speckles of light that shed through the thick canopy of leaves above them. Him, married. He had truly never thought he'd see the day.

He ,seemingly absentmindedly began humming a tune, the same bittersweet tune of a teenager uncertain of what they wanted for themself and from the person beside them. Peter stopped in his tracks.  
"Elias."  
"You never told me you used to be a pianist." He stated, ignoring the warning in the other’s tone and taking his arm.  
"You haven't told me anything about your childhood hobbies so why should I tell you about mine. Besides, it was a long time ago."  
"If it's any consolation, it wasn't much besides reading and writing."  
He rolled his eyes, "I should've guessed. None of your little observations and experiments then?"  
"No no, that came much later. The most 'experimenting' I did back then was kissing the other boys at boarding school."  
“Close enough."

Peter pushed a thick branch out of the way as the sight of the house came into view. It stood as stubbornly as those that inhabited it, yet as always, it caused a strange pang of despair to pluck at his heart.  
"It hasn't aged a day."  
His breath formed wisps of fog and Elias felt gooseflesh raise on his arms despite the warm summer air.  
"No, nothing does around here."

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics in title from A Quiet Night At Home from Bare: A Pop Opera
> 
> My laptop died and I had to do this two times before I could publish this fucking thing. I had an entire paragraph to put here but, honestly, it's the day before I go back to sixth form and I have 6 months worth of work to do and I wrote this so I could try and avoid becoming ill from stress.  
> Anyway, hello, I'm Jehan (They/he) and my partner encouraged me to post one of the many fics I wrote in my spare time and this one is their favourite. If there are any spelling mistakes in this or missing tags, feel free to leave a comment about it.  
> I also have a tumblr (@thisjackofhearts) where I shout about mostly tma related things and a twitter (@vive_l_avenir) where I shout about loving my friends.  
> Thank you for reading :).


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